THE BURIAL
                                                       In Memory of My Father


The coffin's lid slides to.

Dirt falls on the coffin's wood.

The hole in earth is filled.

The face covered up for good.


But the mind's wounds are not filled.

Lost memories linger on.

Though the past's unchangeably past,

it is never past and gone.


Through decades of earth-black loam

his face stares up from the ground--

alive with the hopeless weight

of a love never given or found.



Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie